From a Broken Toy Box
by Belladonna Lee
Summary: James Sirius/Albus Severus. James Sirius Potter, rock musician, joker, and a fool who longs for a certain chocolatier he can never have. 2. James would eat anything Albus made—even if it were a birthday cake laced with love potion.
1. Falling Light

Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine.

Note: Unrequited feelings towards a sibling

Summary: On the observation wheel, James stands apart from the crowd, his hand holding the last box of chocolates that Albus had made at the shop.

A/N: Written for HP rarepair_shorts (prompt: _wheel in the sky_ ).

 **From a Broken Toy Box**

 _1\. Falling Light_

The observation wheel turned in slow motion, taking the visitors towards the evening sky before bringing them down to earth again. In one of the capsules, James Potter stood apart from the crowd and looked out at the metropolis beneath his feet: pretty glitter against the coming night. His headphones fed decades-old music into his ears, a minimalist piece featuring frail female vocal atop trip hop beats and prominent bassline. Even though he was surrounded by people, he was lost in his own world.

Once upon a time, he had ridden this observation wheel with Albus and Lily, three young fugitives running away from home and from reality. The myriad lights below, the cobalt blue sky above, the sensation of hovering between heaven and earth, Lily leaning against his side, and Albus clutching his hand as if afraid of letting go—he remembered everything.

The magic had lasted only for a short while, but it was one of the most memorable moments in his life. Now that the spell was broken, he saw the world beneath him for what it was: the distorted reality of an ordinary metropolis.

The skyline of the city he grew up in seemed at once familiar yet foreign. Some of the landmarks had survived the onslaught of age and waning interest, while others had perished to make way for the new. As he contemplated the view, there was no feeling of awe welling up inside him, and no pangs of nostalgia striking a chord in his heart. What lay before him was neither his home nor his Neverland. It was a tourist's view of the city, a scenery meant to dazzle and to impress.

From his bag James took out a box of chocolates. The pastel blue box was bound in a chocolate brown ribbon. Stamped on the lid of the box was the name of the chocolaterie he would not visit again. As his lips curved into a crooked smile, James pulled off the ribbon and opened the lid. Inside the box were twelve compartments, eleven of which were empty, and one of which contained a piece of chocolate.

This box of chocolates was the last batch of chocolates Albus made at the shop before he left the country to train abroad. The chocolates had already passed the expiry date, but James did not mind. He had no doubt that this last piece of chocolate would still taste better than the finest chocolate Honeydukes had to offer. A fine chocolatier he was, this younger brother of his.

At the thought, James wanted to smile, but his facial muscles felt strained. Even without looking at his reflection in the glass, he could tell his smile resembled a grimace.

Twenty-five days ago, he stopped lying awake in bed in the middle of the night. Fifteen days ago, he had grown accustomed to Albus' absence and silence. Ten days ago, he had almost forgotten his heartache. Three days ago, he was eager to get everything over with and restore his life to how it should have been. After a month of denial and longing, he was here at last with one final piece of the puzzle to devour. Without ceremony he took the chocolate and put it in his mouth.

"Don't bite. Let it melt on your tongue." James heard Albus speaking to him from the depths of his memory.

Holding the chocolate in his mouth, James gazed at the darkening sky and waited. The coating was made of dark chocolate, bitter and rich. It took only a few beats for the shell to melt and unveil its secret. A gush of chocolate ganache flowed into his mouth, bringing with it a hint of coffee liqueur. The taste reminded him of the coffee Albus used to make for him, and his knitted brow relaxed ever so slightly. Little by little the chocolate dissolved inside him, leaving only a bittersweet aftertaste behind.

It was over, James told himself as he closed the lid on the chocolate box that was as empty as he was. From this day onwards, he would keep his feelings for Albus locked away in a box inside him. He would be fine, he reminded himself. Even if he was not entirely fine, he could take comfort in knowing that Albus was able to realise his dream and live the life he wanted. Besides, he still had his work, his music, his comrades, his friends and the rest of his family. He would survive.

With a slight jolt the ride came to an end. James got off the capsule with his fellow passengers, his feet once more on solid ground. When he spotted a litter bin nearby, he dropped the empty chocolate box inside. Unable to resist, he cast one last look at the observation wheel: an ever revolving circle of light overshadowing heaven, the monstrous wheel of fortune in this clockwork city. There was nothing for him here; there never was.

A light breeze brought along the autumnal chill and a touch of moisture. When was the last time it rained, James wondered as he absently wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. Night spilled over from the east and into the west, where a brush of twilight lingered at the edge of the deepening dusk.

Albus once likened one of James' songs to the blue hour. If James were to close his eyes, he could almost picture the scene in his head: the painting on the grey-blue living room wall, Albus sprawling on the faux velvet sofa, and green eyes watching his every move.

"It's not very cheery, is it?" Albus would say. "You can call it _The Blue Hour_ or something." His lips would then curve into a vague smile that seemed to hold too much meaning or nothing at all. "I like it better when you aren't playing the loveable joker."

A clash of drums, bass and electric guitar blasted through the headphones and into James' consciousness. Pressing his lips together, he turned away from the observation wheel and let the song drown out the voice of a certain someone he was not supposed to have.

* * *

 _To be continued..._

A/N: This piece is inspired by Buck-Tick's "Rasen Mushi". Thank you for reading.


	2. Ghost Breath

Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine.

Note: Unrequited feelings towards a sibling

Summary: James would eat anything Albus made—even if it were a birthday cake laced with love potion.

A/N: Written for HP rarepair_shorts (prompt: _the haunted corner_ ).

 **From a Broken Toy Box**

 _2\. Ghost Breath_

With a gig bag slung over one shoulder and a leather bag over the other shoulder, James left the bustle of the dimly lit club behind and stepped out onto the sodium-lit alley. The winter night air cooled his feverish body and restless mind. The smell of cigarette smoke mingled with the smell of food from nearby restaurants, and beneath it all lay the stench of a crowded city.

Several people huddled near the back door of the club, smoking and shivering in the cold. Ash, the guitarist whose band James was supporting tonight, was still wearing the unbuttoned shirt he wore on stage. When he saw James, he lifted his hand in greeting. "Leaving already?"

"Yeah, early start tomorrow."

"Nice muzzle, by the way. Very punk." Ash fished out a slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his trousers and shook out a stick for James to take. "Want one?"

"No, I'm good. I let our vocalist talk me into quitting," James said in half-jest, though all Cecil did was make an offhand remark about how the individual he fancied might not like tasting cigarette in his kiss. "Wouldn't want to upset him." _And Albus,_ he thought to himself.

"You don't need to smoke to play up the bad boy image,"Albus once said to him. "Besides, you are ruining your palate and by extension the cake I made for you." The voice in his head sounded so vivid and real that it made James pause. In the next beat, he felt an urge to kick something—preferably himself.

Oblivious to his thought, Ash grinned a crooked grin and shoved his pack of cigarettes back into his pocket. "Yeah, the things we do for our vocalists." With that he offered his hand to James, who stepped forward and shook it. "Thanks for filling in at the last minute. Er, should I call you Jay or James?"

"Jay's fine. Let's play together again some time." After bumping shoulder with Ash, James waved goodbye at the other smokers and went on his way.

Once James had reached a side street devoid of night life and people, he slowed down and looked up. Beyond the reach of electric lights, the full moon languished in the deep night sky. The persistent humming of the city overlapped with the drone of machines, snatches of music, and the occasional roar of an engine.

The heat, the rush and the headiness that accompanied a live performance had faded. Only cold reality and a hollowed feeling remained behind. For one impulsive moment, James wished he had taken that cigarette. Clutching the well-worn strap of his gig bag, he exhaled a white breath and forced himself to focus on anything but the craving for a smoke.

He wanted to see Albus. (But Albus did not need him.)

James pressed his lips together, and with more force than was necessary, he shoved his hand into his pocket and took out his wand. After ensuring no one was around to see him, he apparated back to his flat. Darkness and silence greeted his return. City lights glittered outside the window and cast a dusky haze in the living room. No one was waiting up for him, not anymore.

After turning on the floor lamp, James dropped his bags on the floor, slumped into the faux velvet sofa, and stared at the clutter on the wooden coffee-table: a coffee-stained mug, sheet music, a guitar pick, birthday cards, a silver ouroboros necklace from Lily, and a charmed and sealed box containing a birthday cake from Albus.

This time last year he and his siblings had gathered around the coffee-table, eating the dessert that Albus had brought out and drinking the tea that Lily had made. It was just the three of them: no parents, no relatives, no friends, no colleagues, no lovers.

Tonight, however, he was alone.

The silence in the flat was stifling. Unable to bear it anymore, James cast a soundproofing spell inside his flat, put on one of his favourite records, and picked up the birthday card that accompanied Albus' cake. The neat handwriting on the card stirred up a nostalgic feeling inside of him.

"Happy Birthday, James. Are you seeing anyone right now? If you aren't celebrating with Lily, you can share the cake with your date. Don't worry. I didn't spike the cake with love potion or any of Uncle George's inventions. I wouldn't do that to the cake or to you. Hope you like it. Love, Albus."

James' lips curled into a twisted smile—the irony was not lost on him. If Albus were to bake him a cake spiked with aphrodisiac, he would happily gorge on it. If Albus were to give him a box of chocolates laced with love potion, he would gladly devour every last piece and become Albus' slave. Was it sick of him to think like that? _Lovesick: love makes people sick—one way or another._

With a self-deprecating smile James put the card aside and pulled the cake box towards him. The box was cool to the touch. A crimson ribbon lent a dash of colour to the plain white box. Heaving a breath, he untied the ribbon and opened the box. As soon as the lid was lifted, the four sides of the box came apart and fell open like petals of a flower in bloom.

The cake was about the size of a saucer, its top drenched in dark chocolate glaze. Two plump strawberries sat atop the chocolate glaze like two human hearts afloat in a sea of darkness. A miniature chocolate Fender Stratocaster lay on its side against the strawberries like a weary wanderer. The side of the cake was unadorned; clean-cut layers of sponge cake, dark chocolate ganache and coffee butter-cream enticed the senses. Pangs of hunger assailed James' stomach; he had only eaten an egg sandwich for dinner.

Holding up his wand, James muttered a spell, and the end of his wand flared up with golden sparks. And he made a wish: _I wish Albus is doing well in Brussels._ With that he blew out the flare, summoned a fork from the kitchen, and dug in to the cake Albus had made for him.

The cake did not taste as sweet as James had imagined. The fusion of dark chocolate and coffee formed a profound bittersweet flavour that only an adult could appreciate. Meanwhile, the strawberries provided a fruity counterpoint to the decadent lushness of the cake, and the chocolate guitar gave James a satisfying crunch.

"How can I not like it?" James muttered to the empty space before him. "You've always known what I like best."

Music filled every corner of the living room, but it could not fill the corner of his mind, the corner haunted by a certain someone who was no longer by his side. Craving for more than just cakes and presents and birthday cards, James took in a forkful of the cake, savoured the bittersweet mess in his mouth, and filled his stomach little by little with Albus' creation.

* * *

 _To be continued..._

A/N: The Fender Stratocaster is an electric guitar model manufactured by Fender. The cake that Albus made for James is an opera cake. Thank you for reading.


End file.
